I come from dry lands.
I come from prayers for a droplet of rain.
How could this have happened?
I am in deep water.
I am caught in a current.
How could this have come about?
My son.
My only son.
A fish out of water.
The only boy of a sea of six girls.
They say blood is thicker than water.
Then why does he now float?
He floats.
Lifeless.
My tears flood my face.
I, too, drown.
It doesn't seem to hold water.
It can not be true.
Yes, you never miss the water 'til the well runs dry,
And you never miss the drought until its absence takes lives.
YOU ARE READING
Identity I
PoetryA sequence of poems I made throughout the years. Just something to read when you're bored (I recommend "TIME" and "LOVE POEM?"). If you're looking for emotional, try "SLOUGH" or "ENDS MEAT."
